


The boy with the Dragon T-shirt

by Lestradesexwife



Series: Prompt fills and Random Plot Bunnies. [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, actually quite serious but prompted by evil rabbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something on tumblr, that came from twitter, suggesting that Max and Ruby had killed their parents. I HATE this show, and it does indeed make me want to stab Ruby. </p><p>Anyway, because I am currently stuck on everything else I pictured Sherlock investigating the death of Max and Ruby's parents.<br/>This happened.<br/>I don't know if I should do more, but I may not be able to stop myself, there is more, cults and murder pacts. Possibly Satanists... I may be on the side of the quality fanfic writers, but don't think for one second that I am one of them.</p><p>I've changed the title. Thanks to a lovely comment from iwantthatcoat. which reminded me of the dragon t-shirt episode, which begged to be used in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was bored. John and Greg were both at work. There was nothing interesting going on at the Yard. He had been promised a reward if he managed to go a whole week without shooting the walls or exploding the kitchen. Sherlock groaned, one tiny fire the fumes of which hadn’t even been toxic and John had taken away his lab equipment for an entire week. Of course the equipment was only down in 221 C, he could go and get it, resume the experiment and put everything away again before John returned home from the surgery. But there was a chance, just a sliver of possibility that John would return early, that Sherlock would not be able to restore everything properly and be discovered. And the  _reward_ , Sherlock shivered.   
  
The old part of him was angry, to so easily be cajoled into good behaviour. That part of him was getting less important by the moment. He wasn’t sure it would last, but he was sure that he would enjoy all that he could.  
  
He sighed, uncurling from his position on the couch. He could maintain his bored posture indefinitely, but he might as well look at the newspaper, see if there was anything in there he could pressure Greg into letting him help on. Sherlock was treading lightly at the Yard just now, he’d been cleared but his presence caused problems for Greg, which made John unhappy, so Sherlock was minimizing his Yard exposure. Hence his current boredom. _But the reward_. He reminded himself.  
  
Sherlock pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa, hunching over and flipping open the paper. Obituaries, always a good source of information. It was amazing what you could tell from the listings of dependants, and the timing of the funeral, if you were capable of seeing the patterns. He scanned the tiny print quickly huffing in frustration. Nearly all natural causes, one or two accidents and hardly anything interesting. Only one greedy uncle trying to defraud an estate, hardly worth Sherlock’s time. He circled it anyway, smirking as he remembered John’s horrified “Sherlock, they aren’t classified ads!” He’d changed his mind after the BondAir case, granting that the details did indeed contain the devil.  
  
Sherlock turned the page, tapping his fingers idly on the surface of the coffee table. The next page of obituaries was dominated by a photo of two young people, Sherlock straightened slightly _not old or natural causes_ but huffed again when he read the caption “Ruby and Max Lapin, survivors of the house fire which claimed both their parents, just days after Ruby’s 18th birthday.” Sherlock deflated, arson how dull. He quickly read through the rest of the article, only other surviving family the maternal grandmother, no insurance, family destitute, donations encouraged. Blah blah blah. Dull.   
  
And yet Sherlock could not look away from the photo, there was something unsettling about the set of Ruby’s eyes. Sherlock could not place the source of his unease. Something teased at the back of his brain. He glanced up at the clock, the article said the funeral was today, he had enough time to arrive before the service started and with any luck gain access to the corpses before they were sent to the crematorium.   
  
He simply walked over the table, heading for the bedroom to find something suitable to wear to a funeral. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his blue robe, texting John and Greg as he walked.  
  
 _Going to a funeral._  
 _May be late._  
 _SH_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attends a funeral.

Sherlock hailed a cab on Baker street, lifting his arm with a casual gracefulness while scrolling through results on the Lapin family. He had decided quickly to masquerade as an old school friend of Travis Lapin’s, since the odds of the maternal grandmother being able to sniff out a lie about her daughter were higher. Thankfully Travis had kept an extensive Facebook page and Sherlock found all he would need to convince anyone who asked that he was a long lost friend.

The black car pulled up to the curb. Sherlock deposited his phone back in his coat pocket and examined the cabby. _Always, every time. John made me promise to look before getting into a cab on my own again. They are nearly always boring though. Who would have thought there would be so many completely normal people in the world._

“142 Church Lane.” Sherlock opened the back door and settled into the seat. He pulled out his phone again. Texting John.

_This cabby is dreadful. He’s never done an interesting thing in his life._   
_SH._

It was only a moment before his phone pinged.  
 _Do I want to know who died?_  
 _JW_

_Multiple arson victims. No one we know. Might not be boring._   
_SH_

_Call Greg if it gets interesting._   
_JW_

_Obviously._   
_SH_

Sherlock looked up as the cab slowed, fishing out some bills and handing them forward to the cabby. He took a moment to examine the building before opening the door. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He stepped out of the car, taking care to adjust his coat collar before heading for the door.

Once inside he sighed. Obviously he would not be able to examine the corpses before they were interred. He resisted the urge to growl at the sight of the two matching urns on the table at the far end of the room. He was about to turn on his heel and leave when he caught sight of the grandmother. She was sitting hunched over, but very stiff and the girl, Ruby, was standing behind her rubbing small circles on her shoulder. Ruby was not wearing traditional black mourning clothes, instead she had on a sky blue dress and a matching beret. The overall effect was vaguely militaristic, and looked out of place in the setting.  
Sherlock turned his head to the side and scanned the room. Well over half of the people in the room were wearing the same uniform, and all of them were girls of Ruby’s age, but for one middle aged woman. She was standing next to a refreshments table, which had been strung with sky blue bunting.

Sherlock approached the grandmother, allowing tears to build in his eyes. “Mrs. Williams, allow me to express my deepest condolences. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I was at school with Travis, briefly. I’m sorry to say I never met your daughter, I haven’t seen Travis in...” he allowed his voice to crack “well far too long. If there is anything at all I can do, please let me know.” There was no point in lying about his identity, anyone with half a brain would know him from all the photos in the paper. His return being still fresh in the news. But as he extended his hand to take Mrs. Williams he made sure to show off the expensive looking watch on his wrist. Mrs. Williams made eye contact with him, something vaguely desperate in her eyes.

Ruby, _oh Ruby she is interesting_ , however looked at the watch with something bordering on hunger. Sherlock had been right, the girl was desperate for money, any whiff of financial generosity from him and she would sink her claws in.

There was a general shifting in the room as the funeral came to order. Sherlock excused himself and found a seat near the back of the room. From here he could see that the blue clad girls had arranged themselves in a wedge behind Ruby. Their matron was directly behind Ruby, and then the rest of the girls, Sherlock had expected them to sit in a random order, but they had arranged themselves in an established and practiced hierarchy.

The funeral director began to speak and Sherlock arranged his face into a mask of appropriate grief as he continued to scan the room. He made a note of Ruby’s recent haircut, her hair had been singed in the fire, and she had cut it short to remove the dead ends. Sherlock craned his head slightly looking for the brother. He’d been expecting to find the whole family together, but there was no sign of Max.

Sherlock was just beginning to wonder how long the director intended to carry on talking when the main door to the room banged open. Admitting an extremely intoxicated Max Lapin. “Shushhhh, sorry.” he slurred “Sorry, I’m late.” teetering farther into the room.

Ruby stood suddenly, “Max! NO!”

Max tottered, pointing at Ruby. “You are not the boss of me Ruby!” He was increasingly unsteady and Sherlock could see that he would not be able to remain upright for long.

Max took another step forward, catching his feet together and tumbling forward. Sherlock reached out, standing rapidly and catching the boy before he could hit the floor. “Steady on there.” He rearranged the limp figure, throwing the boy’s arm over his shoulder and holding him up. “I’ll just,” Sherlock tilted his head towards the door “shall I?”

He turned the young man back towards the hall, noticing another of the funeral home employees hovering in the doorway. Sherlock dragged the boy bodily from the room and followed the employee into a small private grieving room. Where he promptly dumped the young man onto a small sofa.


End file.
